One Actual Superpower
Ordinarily, most of us, most of the time, make it through a day with hardly anyone caring about what we think or what’s going on in our lives. Oh, we’ll get the occasional inquiry. So, what you been up to? How’re you doing? Judging from the paucity of follow-up questions, those asking are usually just being polite.
Most of us don’t mind, most of the time. We’re accustomed to it. It’s in our comfort zone.
Comfort zones go a long way to explaining why the mere thought of running for office gives so many the willies, why countless good people would rather be hogtied, coated in honey and tossed in a bear’s den than have their names on a ballot.
Few welcome the scrutiny. Or the unrelenting strain on family life. The idea of always having to be on—forever smiling, constantly glad-handing—appeals to almost no one. Anyone with an ounce of pride fears reputational harm, being presumed a scheming no-account ladder climber, a liar, a backstabber, a sellout, a crook.
Should you win, a toxic workplace awaits, rife with acrimony and rabid partisanship. These days, once the grueling ordeal of running for office ends, the even more arduous task of overcoming political gridlock and institutional dysfunction begins. Not many are drawn to an assignment where the chances are great you’ll spin your wheels and accomplish much of nothing.
These are perfectly understandable reservations. And hardly the only reasons stomachs turn. There must be 50 ways to lose your nerve.
Speaking from experience, running for office does push you outside any reasonable comfort zone. Still, democracy depends on the participation of the willing. When so few are willing, the business of governing is left to those who fancy status and clout enough to gladly suffer the indignity of being bound and slathered.
For an introvert like me, nothing about campaigning comes naturally, and the attention focused on a candidate is emotionally draining. The stress of fielding questions nonstop as soon as you throw your hat in the ring becomes a constant companion. Repeated opportunities to stick your foot in your mouth wear on you.
Some of the questions are to be expected, ones aimed at pinning you down on this issue or that, others intended to get at what makes you tick. Then there are the questions coming out of left field. I once was asked if I’m a cat person or dog person. The only animals my wife and I had in our home at the time were a pair of guinea pigs. Cute as buttons, but I wasn’t at all sure what it might mean to be a guinea pig type and wasn’t the least bit curious to find out. I went with people person. The questioner seemed unsatisfied, denied the insight into my character that her query was intended to elicit.
A news reporter asked me what superpower I would most like to have. Of all the things she could have asked me about, I thought this was about the dumbest topic she could have chosen, but I kept that to myself. I pondered the question for a brief moment, then told her I don’t believe in superpowers.
She got this look on her face, somewhat surprised, partly amused, almost mocking. She didn’t drop the subject, she pressed me. Too much time has passed for me to quote her with any precision, but what she said next was along these lines: Haven’t you ever thought it would be cool to be able to fly? Or have superhuman strength? X-ray vision? Invisibility? Telekinesis? Shapeshifting? Teleportation? Come on, man!
Not only didn’t I indulge her, I doubled down on my answer, proclaiming my belief in the power of common, ordinary people to do remarkable things. Like the other woman wondering about pet preferences, this reporter was visibly unimpressed, having also been denied the insight into my character that she sought.
Getting cold-cocked with questions from out of the blue is the sort of thing that makes running for office one of life’s more uncomfortable undertakings. You try to think fast, collect your thoughts, say something sensible. An hour or a day or a week later, the answer you really would have liked to give comes to you.
It can even take years for that better answer to arrive. Nearly six have passed since my encounter with the reporter. I still believe in the ability of the average man or woman to astonish, but now I find myself longing for another chance to answer that journalist in a way that makes clear I do believe in superpowers and do have a favorite. The strongest and most valuable of them all has to be kindness.
There’s magic in being kind, the power to lift spirits, right wrongs, heal wounds, open closed minds, thaw frozen hearts. It can’t be legislated away, or vetoed, or invalidated in court. It’s that powerful.
Yep, that’s my belatedly amended answer. Kindness is a superpower, and the best one at that.